


ace beats a queen

by jarrow



Series: Team Sparia QPR [2]
Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aromantic, Aromantic Aria Montgomery, Aromantic Asexual Spencer Hastings, Asexual Character, Best Friends, Blackjack, Gen, Humor, Poker, Queerplatonic Relationships, Team Sparia forever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28514280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarrow/pseuds/jarrow
Summary: A re-imagining of PLL where Spencer is aromantic asexual and Aria is aromantic. Two best friends living their best lives in Vegas, until a ghost from their past shows up.
Relationships: Spencer Hastings & Aria Montgomery
Series: Team Sparia QPR [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088741
Comments: 11
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You should still be able to get the gist of this even if you aren't familiar with poker or blackjack terminology, but it'll be a much more fun read for those who are.

Spencer didn’t have to open the envelope to know what was inside.

UPenn rejected her. Which meant she’d be the first Hastings since 1653 or something to not attend the family alma mater. (Yes, fine, the school was founded in 1740, but there was probably some handmade schoolhouse on those grounds where her ancestors flourished. Her parents would say so, just to make her feel shittier.)

But hope springs eternal, so she rushed to rip the seal apart anyway and unfolded the paper, adrenaline coursing through her veins. Within seconds, she read the words and her brain was swimming in chemicals, and she was drowning in a sea of her own failure. This wasn’t happening. It _couldn’t_ happen. Except, it did.

Spencer reached for the only life raft she could. Fumbling in her pocket for her phone, she typed the message through a blur of tears and the haze of disassociation. She looked down to see she’d messaged Aria. **_Emergency movie night please don’t ask why_**

One minute passed, then two. Spencer stared absently at the backsplash on the kitchen wall to avoid looking at The Letter again. She would stand there for as long as it took for something to force her to move. She’d learned all about inertia in Physics last year but didn’t truly understand the appeal of neverending stillness until now.

Four minutes later, her phone buzzed, and she dared to glance down to see a notification. **_Of course. Dad’s cooking but I’ll come over after. 8 ok?_**

Spencer mustered a quick **_Thanks_** and summoned the will to fling herself onto the couch, where she remained face down, motionless, until her mother found her an hour and a half later.

**********

By 8:05, Spencer was closing the bedroom door behind Aria with her foot, as both hands were full of water glasses and a bag of unnecessarily greasy potato chips Aria brought. Now that they were alone, she knew the inquisition was coming and chose to head it off.

“I know you’re going to ask but I’m _really_ not ready to talk, okay?”

Aria kicked off her shoes and walked around to the far side of the bed, which they both knew was her side. “That’s why I’m here—to be on standby for when you do.” Aria laid down and got comfortable. “Shall I distract you with tales of what happened in chemistry today? Spoiler: it involves Lacey Mender, an unfortunate fashion accessory, and a Bunsen burner.”

Spencer grabbed sweatpants out of her closet and quickly changed into them. “Can you just put on something mindless that’ll distract me from this riptide of suck that I’ve been in all day?” Pulling the hairband out of her ponytail, she flopped down on the bed next to Aria and closed her eyes.

“Comedy, it is.” Aria leaned forward to reach Spencer’s backpack on the foot of the bed and grabbed Spencer’s laptop. She propped it up at the end of the bed, typing in Spencer’s lockscreen password and navigating to Netflix.

Peering through half-closed eyelids, Spencer watched her browse through the offerings; she couldn’t help herself. They had similar enough taste—in movies, anyway—and Aria would be sure to defer to Spencer’s preferences on a night like tonight. Aria was a good friend that way. But just in case, Spencer figured, some light oversight wouldn’t hurt.

When Aria stopped long enough on the cover of Orange County to read the blurb, Spencer vetoed. “Keep going.”

A few more clicks over. Aria turned around. “Legally Blonde?”

“Nothing about college.” Spencer flopped over onto her stomach and buried her face in the pillows.

“Okey dokey.” Aria continued shuffling through a few dozen titles. Everything else was either from before their time or just didn’t seem appealing, so she exited the comedies list and went to the search box. “Should we just do 21 Jump Street again? I know Channing Tatum is _my_ calming presence and not yours, but I’m trying not to strike out, here.”

A very muffled, _“That’s fine,_ ” came from the pillow pile.

“Who is your calming presence, anyway?” Aria asked.

A long pause. _“Stephen Hawking.”_

“Oh, the guy from Before Sunrise? He’s dreamy.”

_“…No.”_

Aria shrugged and typed in the numbers for her search, watching the filtered options update. “Ew, Kevin Spacey, gross.”

Now Spencer was the one frowning as she pushed herself out of suffocation. “What? He’s not in that.”

“No, this other movie called 21. He’s on the cover. Ooh—is that Ashton Kutcher?” Aria had a soft spot. Not Channing level, but still. Mostly, she felt she resembled a young Demi Moore and that she’d catch his eye if they were ever in the same room. He was in her top five celebrity one-night stand bucket list.

“I don’t know.” Spencer buried her face in the throw pillows again.

“Wait, no—Jim Sturgess? I thought that was the _Big Bang Theory_ guy.”

_“That’s Jim Parsons.”_

“I thought he used to host _The Tonight Show_?”

Spencer had to unearth herself again for this one; it was too egregious. “That’s Johnny Carson! How are you so unbelievably bad at this?”

With a smirk, Aria countered, “Got you out of the pillows.”

Spencer glared and turned once more to plummet face-first, only this time Aria reached over to grab the largest pillow out from under her, and Spencer’s momentum carried her smack onto the bed itself. She just managed to turn her head at the last moment, sparing her nose from the blow as her ear hit the mattress. “Um, ow!”

“Come on, sit up,” Aria prompted, scooting herself back on the bed and putting the stolen pillow behind her. “Movie time.” She pressed play and adjusted the angle of the laptop screen to minimize the glare. “That okay?”

It was still ringing in her ear a bit, so she grumbled, “Why see it when I can’t hear it?” Spencer readjusted the pillows and got under the comforter, pulling it up to her chin as she snuggled in for maximum pity-party effect. The production intros began, but Spencer didn’t recognize them. “Uh, what are we watching?”

“Eh, we’ve seen Channing a hundred times. This one looked interesting.”

A title card for 21 displayed, and Spencer frowned even harder. “You traded him for Kevin Spacey? Get your money back.”

“I did _not!”_ Aria opened the bag of chips, filling the room with salt smell. “I traded him for knockoff Ashton and something new, with added bonus Laurence Fishburne. I figure we both could find comfort in his strong paternal vibe.” She crunched hard on a chip and gave a knowing look.

Spencer couldn’t argue with that, so she groaned a little on principle but said nothing. She did find him soothing. Too bad he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the movie opened with a super long CGI sequence of poker chips and playing cards. “Super comforting so far,” she said dryly.

Aria placed a potato chip in her hair.

“Hey!” Spencer carefully found it and tossed it in the small trash can beside her. “I do sleep here, you know. You don’t have to get crumbs everywhere.”

Aria didn’t get it. “I’m on my side.”

“They’re both my side when I’m unconscious. Get a bib.”

“Stop complaining and watch the movie.” Aria shoveled another two chips into her mouth. “It said it’s a true story.”

“About flying cartoon poker chips? Fascinating; can’t wait.”

Aria let it slide, if only because the dialogue was starting and Cranky Spencer could go on all night when provoked. Not thirty seconds later, they saw an establishing shot of MIT, and Spencer’s voice cut in again.

“Hey, I said no college.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to avoid, considering most everyone goes at some point. Can we just give it a try?”

Spencer _“hmph”_ ed loudly and pulled the covers tighter, now covering her mouth and nose, then reached over to grab the bag of chips out of Aria’s hands without warning and hid it under the covers.

“Hey!” But by the time she turned, the bag was lost, and Aria knew Spencer needed it more than she did.

Ten minutes in, between loud crunches (carefully and slowly, one at a time, to minimize crumbs), Spencer observed, “Doesn’t seem very comedic. You really nailed the evening’s requirements.”

“Shh, you might learn something.”

“Like what? How to fail at asking girls out on dates? Not helpful.”

Aria reached over and hit the space bar to pause it. “You either get to eat my chips _or_ heckle my movie choice, not both. Choose.”

Spencer’s face scrunched in anger, looking at her best friend all squinty-eyed as she pondered her options. She peeked under the blanket at her chip bag, still half full, and kept it out of sight. She stuffed three chips in her mouth for effect, speaking as she chewed. “Proceed.”

Over the next ninety minutes, Spencer watched an admittedly entertaining dramatization of the true story of six MIT students who learned how to count cards in blackjack and took several Vegas casinos for millions of dollars before they were caught. The chase sequences were a bit over the top, as was the unnecessary sex scene and the part where Mr. Fishburne beat the crap out of fake-Ashton, but it wasn’t a bad way to spend their evening. Spencer hadn’t known anything about blackjack before this, other than it involved cards, adding to twenty-one, and the kind of chips you don’t eat. There seemed to be more to it now than she’d given the game credit for.

When the credits rolled, Spencer crumpled up the empty bag and threw it away, then rolled back over to her friend. “Laurence wasn’t as calming as I’d hoped.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. But at least now you have a back-up plan?”

Spencer tensed a bit. “Back-up for what, an Ashton fix?”

“I’m just reading between the lines here,” Aria began, delicately, “but I’m guessing something went wrong with your college applications? I know you said you don’t wanna talk about it, and that’s fine. We don’t have to. You know I’m here whenever you’re ready.”

Spencer couldn’t lie to those big puppy dog eyes. With a heavy sigh, she reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a folded piece of paper. After handing it to Aria, Spencer used both hands to hold a pillow over her face. She could hear Aria unfold it, then silence.

“Oh, Spence…god, I am _so sorry_.”

 _“This is the darkest timeline,”_ she mumbled into the pillow.

“But you applied to other schools, right? This is just one letter.”

Spencer ripped the pillow off her face, slamming it on her knees. “None that matter! Not to my parents! It’s like there IS only one college in existence. Or there might as well be!” The pillow slammed back on her face. _“…Ow.”_

“Then it’s a good thing now you know how to count cards in blackjack and become a millionaire. Who needs college?”

_“Ugggghhhhhh.”_

“Well, I’m not leaving you like this, so I guess we’re just gonna have to watch another movie.” Netflix was full of suggestions based on their last pick, top of the list being a film Aria didn’t know called Rounders. “Ooh, Matt Damon! Sold.”

She pressed play and settled back against the pillows. She knew Spencer’s stubbornness could keep her under there for hours, so she was fine entertaining herself. Besides, she knew pretending to ignore her friend was an excellent strategy for getting her to talk. She may not understand her chemistry homework, but she understood Spencer Hastings.

By the end of the opening credits, Spencer had rolled onto her side and created a peephole under the pillow that gave her a direct eyeline to the screen. In a scene thirty minutes in, Aria heard what sounded like, “He should’ve raised,” from her left, but it was probably just Spencer berating her again.

***********

“I call.”

Spencer tossed out nine five-dollar chips like it was nothing, as she had done so many times before. She was open-ended on the flop with middle pair, and that was absolutely worth calling a half-pot sized bet, even with two clubs on board. The turn brought the ace of clubs and a two-thirds pot sized lead out from her opponent, and Spencer kicked her two red-suited cards into the muck without a second thought. She knew the math, and some hands are just like that. You take the loss and move on so you can pick a better spot. Forty-five dollars wasn’t a meaningful dent in her stack. She was the overwhelming chip leader at the table with a cool $1,300 still in front of her in beautiful, neat red columns. There were still plenty of better battles left to fight.

She folded the next hand straight away, a measly 9-2 offsuit, and took a sip of her black coffee, allowing herself to look around the room while she sat this one out. A few noticeable changes since her last bathroom break two hours ago—a new cocktail waitress was taking orders at the next table over, the slot machines on the main floor were filling up with retirees and foreign tourists, and a $5/$10 game had started in the far corner table near the cashier’s cage. Spencer had no interest in joining that game, or any of the bigger ones that ran at the fancier spots like the Bellagio. The $1/$3 game was her bread and butter on these Vegas trips. She wasn’t a professional by any means, but she still felt like the shark in these waters, with no desire to get in over her head. After years of being the prey back in high school, it felt good to be feared. At least, in this particular setting with these total strangers. Here, their fear led to money, and Spencer was excellent at separating people from theirs.

Playing live poker was about fostering a persona and adapting to your opponents in order to maximize your returns. Sometimes Spencer played openly and smiled a lot, choosing to be the pretty girl who flirted with the men at her table and laughing at their dumb jokes and pick-up lines. (She was almost always surrounded by men here; it was an unavoidable trait of the trade.) Sometimes she’d pretend she was new at it—she wasn’t that much older than 21, after all—perhaps she was in Vegas for a bachelorette party and thought she’d try her hand at it like she’d seen on TV. _“How hard could it be?”_ Drunk money didn’t mind losing money to a pretty girl like her, so she played the ‘beginner’s luck’ angle over and over like a college student using the dead grandma excuse to postpone exams every year. Fucking idiots.

But that only worked at certain tables in certain times, when every day brought fresh blood from some different corner of the country. It was easiest to find on weekends in the evening. Since she and Aria started coming during the week and playing all hours of the day, Spencer started facing many regulars at the table, and that meant shutting down the act and closing off completely—no small talk, no smiling, no laughing. No responses whatsoever to the action taking place. Nothing that would give anything away. She thought sunglasses were for cowards, and she refused to wear a hoodie (not after surviving A), so she chose a high-collared jacket to mask her throat, as she knew a pulsing carotid artery was a common tell. Making herself unreadable made it clear she knew what she was doing—no fake beginner’s luck here—and she could play for longer, simply from conserving her energy. Her wins increased.

A typical day would stretch across sixteen hours or so. She would roll out of bed by eleven, shower and dress for comfort, and head downstairs to the poker room in the hotel casino. Aria always insisted they stay at her namesake hotel (“Fine, but next time we stay at mine,” Spencer joked every time), and this suited her just fine, as they almost always had a $1/$3 game going by noon, even mid-week. Spencer could eat a light breakfast while raising on everyone’s blinds with mediocre hands to scoop small pots while the stacks were still small. When the table filled up and rebuys deepened the game, she eased off and waited for her moments to strike. She trusted the math, kept emotion out of it as much as she could, and didn’t give money away without a fight.

After maybe four hours at the table, she’d politely excuse herself and cash out, typically for well above her $300 buy-in. Rat-holing isn’t allowed, so the only way to pocket the excess chips she didn’t want to risk was to leave altogether, which was fine—there were other poker tables. She’d usually go from the Aria to the MGM Grand and restart with $300, then hop to Excalibur for the evening game, once again stashing her winnings and not risking more than she had to. If she lost her initial buy-in, which of course happened from time to time, she allowed herself one more per day, that was it. If the vibe at the table didn’t feel right, she explored alternatives. A few poker rooms on the Strip had closed over the years—they were never quite as profitable as slot machines and took up valuable real estate—but she had her list and knew her spots. A cab ride to Treasure Island could be earned back in her first hand. The Rio was further out but had proven profitable. And if there was no other choice, she’d take a seat in the Golden Nugget downtown. Spencer had spent a hundred hours there already, particularly after sundown. She discovered the winning combination of super-saver airline fares and their $40 weeknight rooms that first summer she was 21. Between Monday and Thursday she could turn a $3,000 profit without breaking a sweat. That’s how good she was.

She folded the next two hands and pulled out her phone. It was 2:23 in the afternoon, and she had two notifications—a junk email from a finance mailing list and a text from Aria. **_Late lunch, Lemongrass @ 3?_**

 ** _Sounds good_** , she replied, getting her phone back in her pocket just in time to play Jack-ten suited and flop a ten.

Twenty minutes later, Spencer took her three racks of chips to the cashier’s cage and walked away with fourteen crisp hundred dollar bills in her pocket (plus a few smaller ones to pay for lunch). A solid start to this Tuesday, to be sure.

It was a five minute walk across the resort to Lemongrass, and she was surprised to see Aria beat her there, if only because Aria was never on time for anything.

“Hey,” she said, approaching the table for two with an empty seat.

Aria looked up from her phone and smiled. “Hey! How’d it go?”

“Pretty solid.” Spencer leaned against an ornate fence beside the table that designated the boundary of the restaurant. After sitting for several hours, it felt good to stand for a bit. “14 new friends.”

This was code, since it didn’t seem like a good idea for two young women to broadcast they had over a thousand dollars on them, even in a crowded restaurant in the middle of the day with hundreds of cameras everywhere. Someone could always follow them back to their room or follow them into the bathroom. So, they had several rules in place for these trips, and sticking to them is what made it possible to keep coming back.

First, they would never keep more cash on them than they were willing to lose. Profits went in the safe in the room, with the 4-digit code set to their apartment number. They always talked about money in code, calling hundred dollar bills their ‘friends.’ They always kept in contact via text so the other knew where she was. They could use their real first names when they played (since the dealers would know them anyway) but didn’t reveal personal details beyond that. Finally, no alcohol, unless they’re together and done playing for the night. Spencer liked rules, and Aria liked being safe in a big city, so neither had any trouble keeping with the plan.

There was an additional subset of safety rules for Aria, when she would occasionally meet a nice gentleman at the bar to scratch an itch. No paid professionals, no real names, no phone numbers, no staying overnight, no leaving him unattended in the room, no company after 3am, and for god’s sake, no doing it on Spencer’s bed. These rules had only gone into effect once, two years ago, but they both appreciated having them as a standing tradition all the same.

“Do you want vegetarian spring rolls?” Aria asked, looking down the appetizer list.

“Um,” Spencer said, picking up the spare menu. “No, I think I’m gonna go with…shrimp rolls.”

“You always get that. Live a little.”

That earned a glare. “Like you’ve haven’t gotten the spring rolls eighteen times.”

Aria avoided eye contact as she sipped her water. “Not in the last four months.”

“Conveniently, we haven’t been here in four months.”

Aria feigned innocence as she continued scanning the menu. “Oh, really?”

Spencer smirked, pulled out the chair, and sat down. “What’re your plans for the afternoon?”

“I figured we could pop over to MGM together, maybe? I think a walk in the fresh air will do me good.”

“Yeah, that’s my next stop. Were you thinking we’d play tonight or do a show?”

“I’m fine either way,” Aria said. “Is there anything good on a Tuesday?”

“Nothing we haven’t seen.” After ten trips to Vegas in the last three years, they were gobbling up shows faster than they were being produced.

Aria gave a small groan of disappointment. “Let’s see how we feel at dinner? If we wanna cash out, I did like Kà ; I’d see that again.”

Spencer paused. “Was that the one with the giant wheels or the giant baby?”

“Wheels. Yeah, the baby was weird.”

“Super weird.” Spencer flipped to the dessert section, trying to decide how rogue she wanted to go without a proper lunch yet. “And you know I’m fine with you going to see Zumanity on your own if you want.”

“That’s the sex one, right? I wouldn’t make you sit through that.”

“No, I know. Just saying, if you feel like cashing out tonight and I’m still at a good table, that’s an option. I bet you could get a good single seat even last minute.”

Aria raised one eyebrow as she looked down the dessert list, herself. “Trying to get rid of me?”

“Yes, I hate you, please go watch a sex circus.”

“Maybe I will,” Aria said, then flagged down a server to take their order.

She loved these trips with Spencer. This was the third year they’ve done this—only their third year being old enough to—and it was already a tradition she cherished, crass as Las Vegas may seem to some. It had been Spencer’s idea to spend a stretch of weekdays here in the first place, but it’d been Aria’s idea to come back a few months later. Neither of them wanted to battle the desert heat in summer, so what started as a fall trip become a fall, winter, _and_ spring trip. They used airline miles when they could, and Spencer racked up enough hotel points through her junior consulting work that they usually got at least one or two nights free. They set aside a little here and there from their work incomes as playing cash, but the trips almost always paid for themselves and then some.

It probably sounded strange to explain, which is why they didn’t even tell Hanna, Emily, or Ali about it. Why would two best friends who already _live together_ go on vacation together—without inviting anyone else alone—and barely see each other the whole time? But it worked because their interests aligned, and it made sense to them. Spencer wanted to spend all day at the poker table, and that was fine with Aria. She wanted to spend part of her day reading (or writing, when she was being good) by the pool, and the rest of her day at the blackjack table. They both enjoyed switching it up at night with an evening show, when something caught their interest. Spencer preferred the Cirque series or a magic show, while Aria preferred concerts, and they were each happy to tag along, since it’s hard to go wrong with a Vegas show. They alternated to keep it balanced, and promised to not take offense if the other person wasn’t interested or in the mood to go. (Once, when Spencer didn’t want to stop playing, Aria treated herself to Thunder From Down Under. True to the rules, she told Spencer she was catching a show at Excalibur, and thankfully Spencer didn’t press for details. It was the only time Aria really wished Hanna had been there. She would’ve appreciated their…talent.)

On these trips, Spencer and Aria lived their fullest, most hedonistic lives. Lodging comfortably and eating well, sleeping in and keeping to whatever schedule they pleased, playing all day and letting the brightest in the business entertain them at night. And through it all, they had their best friend with them. Though by this point, the term “best friend” almost seemed too cute or juvenile, like it couldn’t properly encompass what they meant to each other. Spencer was Aria’s person, and she knew the reverse was true as well. No one knew her better, no one understood her more deeply, there was no one she trusted more or would rather spend time with. They had _survived_ so much together, but they were more than just two girls brought together by circumstance. They were on the same wavelength, plain and simple, and they valued their differences as much as their commonalities. Back in high school, they’d first bonded over losing Ali and battling A, but soon found they were both outsiders to the romantic world, travelling on parallel tracks with a shared understanding. Neither girl wanted to date or get married, but both sought deep and meaningful companionship. They didn’t want to be alone and wanted to be _seen_. It felt all too fortuitous that they’d found each other, and they clung tightly. It didn’t matter that Spencer was also asexual and Aria wasn’t—they knew they would put each other first because they both wanted to. And over these last seven years, their bond had only strengthened.

As Aria bit into her second spring roll, she had to laugh at how this whole adventure started. She was the one who inadvertently gave Spencer the poker bug back in senior year when they watched Rounders. An innocent, passing interest in seeing Matt Damon’s face kickstarted her best friend’s new obsession. After that, Spencer bought a few books on No Limit Hold ’Em, found a late night channel that showed poker pros battling it out, and everything changed. She’d known her hard work at school would pay off in college, but she didn’t know she could put her math and people-reading skills to work _now_ for sizeable profits in a lucrative hobby (one she would _never_ tell her family about).

After 3 years of free practice on a Facebook app and schooling frat guys at parties, Spencer took her first trip to Atlantic City when her parents were out of town. Aria texted her constantly all weekend, worried sick that her best friend was off alone. (Aria had to work and couldn’t get out of it, not that close to the holidays.) Spencer lost all of the four hundred dollars she’d saved up to play with, but that didn’t stop her. She learned, she read, she practiced. And now here they were, living like kings in a takeout restaurant of a Vegas casino, stuffing appetizers into their mouths with two thousand dollars of other people’s money burning holes in their pockets.

But even more surprising than Spencer’s poker acumen was how Aria took to blackjack. She didn’t think much of the game when she watched that 21 movie, especially with how much hard work it seemed to take to be good at it. Counting cards didn’t sound like fun to her. So, she was pleased to learn that’s not a necessarily skill to walk away a winner. There was solid strategy mixed in with a bit of luck, and following the math. She knew she had the emotional stability to ride through the ups and down. After all the hell A put them through, hitting on 12 and losing $10 was nothing.

While Spencer caught interest right away from movie night, it took longer for Aria to find her way to her game. She tutored math for elementary kids at the Learning Annex in college and accidentally discovered blackjack was a great way for them practice addition facts. Aria got good without realizing it—not just at adding, of course—but at teaching the kids when to hit or stay. They didn’t actually gamble with it, but it didn’t matter. It was great math practice for them and hours of free skills training for her. She took Spencer’s advice to find free apps on her phone and buy a book or two on basic strategy. Within a month, Aria was willing to risk her own money on her gameplay, self-discipline, intuition, and stronghold on the probabilities driving the game. And unlike Spencer, Aria won money her first time at the Atlantic City tables.

It’s hard to find a smaller game than $10 blackjack in Vegas, so Aria sat down with at least $200 each time, figuring that if she’s wrong twenty times in a row—or at least twenty times more than she’s right—she needed to call it a day. Though she didn’t bring home returns as high as Spencer, usually peaking at about $600/session, she did win more consistently and have fewer swings, so in a typical trip they ended up averaging the same total cash profits. She liked that she could hold her own with the class valedictorian, and also that she had her own specialty. She knew the rules of poker just like Spencer knew how to play blackjack, but they were each a bit like a dog paddling in the unfamiliar waters, rather than a shark. It was just as well—this way, they never had to compete against each other. They never wanted to.

But knowing the other’s game came in handy when they needed to celebrate—or vent. Both girls tried not to use their phones much at the table, in order to maintain focus and look as professional as possible, but they let loose on bathroom breaks.

A (4:26 PM): **_How did my split jacks BOTH lose?! What the Christ_**

S (5:15 PM): **_Ugh, so gross. My pocket tens just got counterfeited by running kings and queens on the board, so it’s not going much better over here. Stay focused, you got this_**

A (6:08 PM): **_U2_**

S (7:48 PM): **_Hit a 2-outer for a $600 pot. I’d offer to buy you a steak tonight but I know you wouldn’t eat it._**

A (8:24 PM): **_WOOO gimme some of that luck, I’m down 30 and this table feels stale. Thinking I might try NYNY soon._**

S (8:31 PM): **_Ok gl, I’m going to cash out soon and head back to base. Just feel like that’s the right place to be tonight._**

A (8:52 PM): **_GL get that $$$_**

As is proper etiquette, Spencer announced fifteen minutes in advance of her 9 PM departure and cashed out her $935 in chips. She made her way back through the maze-like structure of the MGM Grand casino floor, all the while admiring the architecture and internal structures. She was always amazed how each casino managed to have the most incredible adornments but the worst carpeting. It was like a rule or something. The Riviera was the worst—just wall to wall floral uterus patterns. So strange.

Weaving her way through the crowd, she pushed the revolving door and emerged from the labyrinth into the comfortable Las Vegas evening air. It was still warm, only mid-October, but it felt nice on her skin. Spencer made her way north on the Strip until she reached the massive crosswalk leading back to the Aria resort, navigating the herd and taking in the sights all around her. No matter how many times she came here, it never ceased to amaze her. The lights, the sounds, the sheer scale of it all. This was her Disneyland, and she was here to play.

As per her routine, Spencer made her way up to their hotel room, stashed the profit, and took her original $300 back downstairs. Just like everything in Vegas, the poker room was a fair walk away, but not unreasonably so, and it helped offset the hours of sitting still. Plus, it gave her time to think and get in the zone. Start tight, observe the players and the pace of the game, don’t give away anything that you don’t have to, identify the fish and the sharks, use position to your advantage, don’t get caught bluffing.

When she reached the floor manager’s desk, she saw the four running $1/$3 tables were all full, but there was no waitlist yet, so she would be first up when a seat opened. She got a Sprite from the cocktail waitress and found a space near table three to quietly observe from a close distance. There was no way to know what table she’d end up at, but it was still fun to watch, even without knowing the player’s cards like on TV.

After about fifteen minutes, she saw a man in his fifties get up from table four and walk out of the room empty-handed—a likely sign that he was done. Sure enough, a minute later, Spencer heard her name called over the intercom. She approached the floor manager to claim her spot, handed him three crisp bills, and he led her to the open seat at table two.

“Three hundred behind, Bob,” he told the dealer.

Spencer took a quick inventory of the other eight players—all men, as expected. Four of them were no later than thirty and wearing matching t-shirts for some kind of event in Minnesota, or maybe a team. They looked like different verses of the same boring song. All of them had alcohol in front of them. The other four men were older but well dressed, chatting in pairs with each other across the table, each with at least seven hundred dollars in front of him. Going off her quick estimate, there was almost five grand on the table.

Quiet, cool, and aloof poker pro wannabe Spencer wasn’t the right angle here, she decided. It was time to kill these boys with kindness. And then kill their fortunes.

The floor manager returned with three neat stacks of twenty red chips each and set them in front of Spencer. “Good luck.”

“Why, thank you!” she said in her best Southern drawl. She was awful at accents even on her best day, but chances are none of these people would know the difference.

“Do you have a player’s card, miss?” Bob the dealer asked.

“I sure do!” She dug deep in her pocket and pulled it out, handing it over. It was something regular players had, used to earn points toward free food, and it usually meant you knew what you were doing as opposed to some passerby on vacation looking for a thrill. The dealer swiped it and returned it, then quickly dealt the next hand.

Spencer looked down at 7-8 of hearts and called the $6 raise in front of her. Two more callers saw the flop of 10-2-K with two hearts. Spencer bet $12 and they both folded. As she scooped her meager pot, she asked, “So, where y’all from?” with her biggest smile.

“Northern Minnesota,” one of the cardboard boys said.

“Y’all on some kind of team?” she asked cardboard boy number two. “I like your shirts.”

“Intramural football,” he said as he folded. “There’s a tournament this weekend.”

“Is that for college?” she asked, betting her top pair, top kicker.

“No, it’s recreational,” said the first boy. “Most of us went to U of M, though.”

The second boy asked, “Are you still in school? You barely look legal.”

One of the other guys next to him laughed loudly and said, “Dude, don’t be gross.”

“What!” he said, “I meant, like, to play poker.” He took another long swig off his beer.

Spencer gritted her teeth and forced her best fake smile. “No, but I graduated from a U of M, myself—Mississippi.”

“You’re a long way from home,” one of the older men commented.

“I’m here with some other girls from my astronomy program,” she lied. “My friend Emily just eloped with her boyfriend Toby in one of the Elvis chapels, and we all came out to celebrate their honeymoon here with them, Vegas style! My big sister did the same thing the third time she got married—that was to the second Jason, not her first husband Jason.” She bet three-quarters pot on her set of sixes and laughed quietly to herself. This tale she was spinning would have Aria in stitches later on.

“She married two guys named Jason?” the third dudebro asked.

“Only because she found out the first one was actually her half-brother. It was a whole thing, but they got it annulled, so it’s fine.” Spencer raised pre-flop to $12 with ace-queen of spades and was happy to see a queen in the window as the dealer spread the flop.

For the next thirty minutes, she chattered on and on, spouting little that resembled the truth and steadily building her chip stack. Her $300 had climbed to $545 when she ordered a cheese quesadilla from the kitchen and took her first bathroom break.

A (10:34 PM): **_Much better here. Up $140 quickly. U?_**

S (10:54 PM): **_Apparently I decided to channel HoneyBooBoo this evening. At least I’m winning? I’ll explain later._**

She washed her hands and made her way back to the table. From this angle, she could see a woman sitting down in a chair where one of the dudebros had been, on the opposite side from Spencer’s seat. It would bring a welcome change to the energy, surely. Hopefully the stranger wasn’t from Mississippi.

Spencer made her way back quickly, eager to dive into the fresh quesadilla that was now waiting for her on a side table.

“Three hundred behind,” the floor manager said to the current dealer.

Spencer sat down and immediately started eating without a glance at anyone, too famished to see any hands yet. She hadn’t eaten since the shrimp rolls that afternoon; sitting out until the blinds came back around wouldn’t do any harm.

“Here’s my player’s card,” the new voice at the table said.

Spencer’s blood ran cold.

With a mouthful of cheesy goodness, her head whipped around to stare bug-eyed at the woman sitting in seat two. Sure as the sun rises over the Vegas desert every morning, Mona fucking Vanderwaal was sitting at her poker table.

“Oh, here she is,” one of the cardboard dudes said to Mona. Then, looking at Spencer, he added, “We were just telling her she wasn’t the only pretty girl at the table. That’s pretty unusual, huh?”

“How about that,” Mona said, smiling politely at Spencer while staring right through her. She was probably just as surprised to see Spencer here, unless this was more stalking bullshit like back in high school.

Another cardboard boy noticed the staring contest. “You two know each other?”

“No,” Spencer said quickly, then, remembering her ridiculous persona, added, “she’s just so dang pretty, I must’ve forgotten how to blink. So sorry about that!” She set out three white chips for her big blind and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming.

“It’s no problem,” Mona said, peeking down at her two cards. “I was thinking the same thing about you. You look _just_ like someone I knew back in high school.”

Spencer grinded her teeth. “Well, how about that.”

Mona pushed forward two red chips for a raise. “That’s quite an accent you’ve got. Wherever are you from?” Her pleased-as-punch attitude shone through, seemingly delighted to be catching this evening’s performance.

“Wait, I know this!” one of the boys said, pointing at Spencer. He was clearly drunk and cared more about engaging with the ladies than playing poker. “Mississippi!”

“Mississippi!” Mona said, beaming, as she turned to Spencer. “I love Mississippi; I used to visit all the time as a child. Tell me…wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

Spencer tilted her head with a vacant expression that said, _God, I fucking hate you._ “Spencer.”

“Spencer. What a lovely name. I’m Mona; it’s nice to meet you. Tell me,” Mona said, placing out a thirty dollar bet on the jack-high board, “Do you like Oxford?”

Spencer was sure Mona knew she really went to Georgetown, having blown her interview in England, thanks to A. It was her own boyfriend—Aria’s brother, in fact—who planted the leaky blood vial in her bag that decimated her chances of going to school at Oxford. Spencer resented that she would dare bring this up now. With another saccharin smile, she said, “I didn’t go to Oxford, I went to University of Mississippi.” She closed her mouth before the words _you fucking bitch_ slipped out.

Mona nodded as she spoke carefully, “Right, and Ole Miss is in the city of Oxford, Mississippi. Unless they managed to move a 250-year-old campus since I last visited.” She chuckled as she pulled in a moderately sized pile of chips, mostly frat boy money.

Spencer’s jaw clenched so hard she almost had an aneurysm. “And where’re you from, Miss Mona-Rona?”

“Oh, just a small town in Pennsylvania. You wouldn’t have heard of it.” She tossed in a $50 raise like coins into a fountain. “There isn’t much to see. Our most interesting landmark is probably the mental hospital, truth be told.”

“How lovely for you,” Spencer said, calling the $50 with bottom two pair. “So, what brings you to Las Vegas? You on one of those true crime tours? You super into murders and all that?” She held Mona’s eye as the river card came out, then they both glanced down at it together. It was a black nine. Her hand remained unchanged, so she bet half-pot for $80.

“I do respect a well-executed plan,” Mona said, “but no, I’m just here for pleasure.” She called and turned over QJ for a straight.

“Nice hand.” It was the custom phrase, though everyone knew much of the time it meant, “Fuck you.” Spencer steadied her breathing as Mona scooped the large pile of chips with both hands, expertly stacking them by color with rapid movements.

“Thank you. And what brings you to Vegas, all the way from the deep South?”

One of the remaining footballers cut in, “She’s here for an Elvis wedding.”

Spencer’s eyes closed involuntarily, then she recovered with a deep breath. She dug this grave herself—now she had to climb her way out.

“How charming!” Mona said. “Wait, it isn’t _your_ wedding, is it? Are congratulations in order?”

“No,” Spencer said, but then got cut off by cardboard boy number two.

“It’s her friend Emily. She already married two guys named Jason. One was actually her brother,” he drunkenly explained.

Spencer’s lies already sounded bad enough without them getting even more convoluted.

At this revelation, Mona’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. “Really! How fascinating! Tell me more!”

“Nooo,” drunken dudebro number one cut in, “her _sister_ married her brother.”

As if that made it any better.

“How scandalous,” Mona said and scooped another pot mostly full of old man chips.

“You know,” Spencer said, looking around the room desperately for a clock and not finding one. “It’s getting late and I’ve got to go meet a friend…”

“Another pretty girl from your astrology class?” the third dude asked and folded. “Have her come here.”

The first guy smiled at her and said, “I’m a Cancer, what about you? Wait, let me guess—Capricorn.”

Spencer looked down at a 2 of hearts and a 6 of diamonds, mucked them, and mustered what remained of her strength to live through this conversation. “Not astrology, darlin’, the other one. The one about actual stars and planets and such.”

Mona gasped and fell back in her chair, looking at Spencer. “You’re an _astronomer_? You know, this is such a coincidence—just this morning I was arguing with someone about whether or not the standard laws of general relativity should be modified to accommodate the current reigning dark matter theories and indirect observations. It’s all so fascinating, isn’t it? What’s your take on dark matter, Spencer? Do you think it’s primarily made of WIMPS?”

“Um.” Spencer had stopped processing information long before Mona finished speaking. How did this bitch know so much about astronomy? Or was Mona making it all up just to make her look bad? “No?” That last part sounded wrong. “What do you mean ‘wimps’?”

“You know,” Mona prompted, warm as apple pie, “weakly interacting massive particles. Amazing to think the majority of the universe is made of a new type of elementary particle we haven’t even discovered yet.” She turned over pocket queens and took another pot from the old men.

Spencer grabbed what remained of her decimated chip stack with both hands. “The universe continues to surprise us.” And with that, she said, “Good night,” to the table, tripped on the chair, and nearly ran out of the poker room.

She didn’t risk going upstairs and having Mona follow her, so instead Spencer shoved the chips into her pockets and took off toward the front doors where the taxis picked up. It all felt like a dream—a nightmare, really—and she had to get to Aria.

Fifteen minutes later, she was following signs in New York, New York that directed her to the table games area. There were six $10 blackjack tables, and one was particularly crowded, mostly with strapping young men who wanted to be near the pretty girl with a pink streak in her hair.

Spencer pushed through the crowd and placed a hand on Aria’s shoulder. “We have to go. Now.”

“Spencer, hey! I didn’t know you were—”

“Aria, we’re leaving. Grab your chips, we have to go. I’m sorry.”

Aria could see something was genuinely wrong now, and her whole demeanor shifted. “Why, what happened?”

“Vegas is ruined forever.”

“Uh, can you give me a little bit more to go on?”

Spencer stared her directly in the eye. “Mona’s here.”

Aria went pale as a ghost. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed an empty glass nearby and double-fisted her chips into it before turning to the dealer. “Seat open.”


	2. Chapter 2

Spencer and Aria weaved between the endless slot machines of New York, New York, walking as fast as their feet could carry.

“Where are we going?” Spencer asked from two steps behind.

“I don’t know. Away.” Aria maneuvered around a server holding a tray of drinks and took a sharp left toward the food court. Even at midnight, each station was bustling with a line of people.

The girls pushed past the crowd and made their way to the far side, next to the one closed restaurant, to huddle in the shadow of its awning. With a wall behind them, they could watch for anyone approaching without being snuck up on.

“Okay,” Aria said, trying to catch her breath, “start over. What happened?”

Spencer blinked. It hadn’t been a very long story. “All I said was, ‘Mona’s here.’”

“Yes, but _how?_ It can’t be a coincidence.”

“What, that she’s here in Vegas? Or that she sat down at my table?”

Aria’s mouth fell open. “She was _at your table?!_ Okay, THAT’S what I meant when I said to start over!”

“Sorry! Still trying to regain brain function, here.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Aria sighed. “You saw her _here_ in New York, New York?”

“No, just back at the Aria.”

They stood silently for thirty seconds watching the bustle of tourists and hotel employees crisscrossing through the open floor, balancing oversized sodas and gigantic baskets of fries on trays. The dull roar of echoing voices in the casino underscored the pings and musical tunes of the hundreds of slot machines across the giant sprawl of the place. But this giant fortress of a casino suddenly felt a lot smaller. They scanned as many faces as they could; no one was coming within a hundred feet of them.

“I don’t think she followed me,” Spencer said.

“She’s probably hacked into the security cameras.”

“What,” Spencer balked, “of every casino on the Strip? She’s Mona, not the FBI.”

“You’re right,” she said dryly, “underestimating her has always worked out well.” Aria wasn’t taking her eyes off the room, not for a moment.

Spencer leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. “What the hell is she doing here on _our_ vacation?”

“Maybe the same thing all these other people are doing. Or maybe not.”

“We haven’t seen or heard from her in _five years_. And suddenly she just sits down at my poker table out of nowhere?! I thought I was losing my mind.”

“I would’ve screamed.”

“Believe me, I almost did.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Aria’s eyes caught a short brunette on the far side of the tables, but then the girl turned around; it wasn’t Mona. “What’d she say?”

Spencer didn’t want to go too deep here. “Not a lot. We pretended we didn’t know each other.”

Aria broke her scanning pattern to turn around. “ _That_ must’ve been weird.”

“Yeah, well, I set it up and she went with it. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.”

“I’m glad you did! It probably would’ve been another hour before I saw a text.”

“Yeah, no,” Spencer said, “I wasn’t leaving you out there alone once I knew she was here.”

It was a sweet sentiment. Though, Aria couldn’t help but point out, “Yeah, it’s much better now that we have no idea where she is.” She gave Spencer a joking smile.

But that realization flipped the anxiety switch into overdrive. “I panicked! Okay? You try keeping your shit together when the Ghost of Rosewood Past crashes your holiday fun. I’m lucky I made it out with any money at all.”

“How’d you do?”

Spencer reaches into her pockets and pulls out chips a handful at a time, handing them to Aria. “That.”

It isn’t much, just over fifty dollars. “Oh boy.”

“Yeah, and guess who has most of my stack.”

Aria puts Spencer’s chips into the glass with her own. “Well, you’re gonna get it back.”

“What?! How? Mug her in the street?”

Aria blinked. That was certainly one option. “Or you could play her for it.” The rest of the sentence, _“like a normal person,”_ was implied.

Spencer laughed openly, “I’m not going back there.”

“Well, we can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not? They have food.”

“Spencer.”

“You _love_ garlic fries.”

“Look, we’ll switch hotels. Okay?” Aria reasoned. “We’ll go back, get our stuff, check out early, and find a new place to stay. These casinos are all run by the same people, I bet we could transfer our reservation to a new—”

“We can’t stay on the Strip,” Spencer said.

“Then we’ll go downtown. You like the Nugget.”

“And I bet Mona knows that.”

“Okay, now you’re being ridiculous.”

Spencer dug in her heels. “Am I? You’re the one who said we shouldn’t underestimate her.”

“Maybe we should just go home, then?” It was an honest question, not a threat, and it carried a heavy sadness to it. It was only the second day of their trip. They’d been looking forward to this for so long. “We can,” Aria said gently. “We don’t have to be here.”

“And let her win?” Spencer said. “No. Fuck Mona.” She tightened the pull of her arms against her chest. The pressure was comforting, and she really appreciated that Aria was letting her be the more-freaked-out one right now.

“Okay. Then we can go to any hotel you want, alright? It doesn’t matter to me where we stay.”

Spencer looked apologetic; she knew it was fun for Aria to be in her namesake spot. But friendship came first.

“Thank you.” She thought for a moment. “The Rio?”

“Yeah, sure. I like the Rio. They have good pillows.” With that decided, Aria calmed down a bit. She realized she’d gotten a bit sweaty from all the stress and running away. “God, I can’t wait to change out of this.”

“I’ll buy you something in the fashion mall. Come on,” Spencer prompted and started walking in the opposite direction from the main entrance.

“No, it’s fine,” Aria said, walking along after her, “I brought a few extra outfits just in case—”

“I said we’re not going back. We’ll just forfeit that stuff and start over.”

“Seriously?” Spencer didn’t get overdramatic like this very often anymore, but Aria’d seen it enough to know she had to win out with logic, not emotion. She took a deep breath, following as Spencer turned past one of what must be a dozen overpriced themed bars. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We can replace the clothes and the suitcases and my makeup…and your laptop.” She let that sink in before adding, “And the 28 friends we left in the safe.”

Spencer stopped right in the middle of the walkway and turned around, almost crashing into an older couple coming past. Aria was right. She was being ridiculous. She needed her computer, and that was too much money to leave behind. It was just Mona. They probably wouldn’t even see her coming in or out, assuming she was still at the poker table _(with Spencer’s money)._ Fifteen minutes, tops, and then they’d sneak away and enjoy the rest of their trip. They could do this.

She sighed and closed her eyes. “Fine. But just know I’m not above making a scene by starting a fire if we see her.”

“You can use my lighter,” Aria said warmly.

“Since when do you carry a lighter?

Aria sighed, her supportive gesture having fallen flat. “Come on, dingus.” And with that, they doubled back across the miles of unflattering fleur-de-lis carpet to the taxi stand.

********

Spencer swore she could hear the Mission: Impossible theme in her head as they entered the Aria hotel lobby. She scanned the room like she was looking for a rogue bomber that might explode any second, quickly crossing past the check-in desks to the row of elevators for the higher floors.

Aria was still using two hands to carry the (now stolen) glass full of chips, holding it against her stomach to hide its contents. She walked carefully, not wanting to spill their money, and fell further behind Spencer, who had longer legs anyway.

Spencer reached their destination first and pushed the up arrow button. Now they just had to wait and see which of the eight options would arrive first. The girls stood back to back, each nervously glancing about, despite being in a closed hallway.

“In and out in five minutes,” Spencer said. “We can call the front desk to cancel the other two nights once we’re at the Rio.”

“What about these chips?”

“Save them, I guess? We can cash them in another time. It’s not that much.” Unfortunately.

“Yeah, okay. Or a nice tip for housekeeping.”

Spencer was bouncing on her toes. “Do these elevators always take so long?”

 _“Not usually,”_ came a voice from the end of the hall, _“but it’s a slow time of night.”_

Both girls turned with a gasp; Aria nearly dropped the glass.

It was Mona. Because, of course it was.

She was standing ten feet away, wearing a dashing black pea coat with heels to slay. “Hello, Aria. I’m guessing Spencer told you we ran into each other earlier.”

Before she could respond, the elevator button dinged, and the doors just behind Aria slid open. A pair of middle-aged women stepped out and walked past, but the girls remained frozen. They both knew there was no getting away; they wouldn’t be able to get the door closed in time to leave Mona in the dust.

Spencer thought maybe if a second elevator opened right now, they could each make a run for it, and Mona would have to choose who to follow, and that person could lead her on a wild goose chase until she could break aw—

“Hey. Spencer?” Aria’s voice cut into her thoughts.

She blinked back into the moment to find Mona giving her a raised eyebrow. “I said, do you girls want to grab a drink?”

“Sorry,” Aria replied, “we were actually just heading upstairs to call it a night. Long day. Nice to see you.”

“Of course,” Mona smiled politely. “Well, I’m sure Spencer and I will have plenty of time to catch up tomorrow in a nice long session at the poker table.”

“Actually,” Spencer cut in, “we’re leaving first thing in the morning. 9 AM flight back to—” She stumbled, not wanting to reveal where they were living these days. “…home.”

“Breakfast, then, before you head out. The Patisserie here has _amazing_ veggie omelets with romesco sauce. You simply have to try it or you’ll regret it the whole flight home. Shall we say, 6 AM?”

Aria winced but Spencer openly scowled. This was only getting worse.

“How about,” Spencer countered, “we let you buy us each a drink now—one drink, prepared in plain sight by a bartender with you standing five feet away—you tell us what the hell you’re doing here, and then we don’t see you again for the rest of our trip.”

Mona tilted her head with an _aww, shucks_ expression. “I’ve missed you, too. Come along.” And with that, she turned and started walking away.

But the girls didn’t follow. Aria looked up at Spencer with her all-too-familiar _I have a bad feeling about this_ face. “We don’t have to do this,” she whispered. “We can just go.”

“Go where? I’m starting to feel like she lives here.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to spend time with her! Push the button again.”

But then Mona reappeared in view, looking less friendly this time. “No point in wasting time. You’ll want to be rested for your flight.”

With a final glance exchanged—a sort of quiet _here we go_ —Aria and Spencer started back toward the lobby, following the devil that refused to get off their shoulders.

“You girls feeling more like the Alibi?” Mona asked as they walked. “If Tony’s working tonight, he’ll take good care of us. Or we could try the High Limit. They have blackjack in there.” She looked at Aria pointedly, and both girls reacted but tried to hide it. Mona already knew more than they were comfortable with, and they hadn’t even sat down to talk.

“Alibi’s fine,” Aria said, and Mona adjusted her trajectory accordingly to the left.

Spencer had never seen so many couches in a bar, but there were at least a dozen sprawled in the entryway, with high tables and the counter behind. The place was less than half full, probably because it was Tuesday night, but the three girls easily snagged a comfortable couch and chair arrangement near the front entrance. Any funny business from Mona would be captured on the hotel lobby cameras, should they need the evidence. It felt silly having to think about things like that, like fucking high school, but those old doors opened easily again. Too easily, in their opinion.

Aria sat down first, choosing the couch, and Mona took a tall beige chair opposite her. Spencer chose to sit next to Aria on the couch rather than take the other chair. This felt more like two-against-Mona, and she wanted to cling to any advantage they might have.

“This is nice. Save our seats while we go get drinks?” Mona asked Aria. They all silently agreed this was the best arrangement, as Spencer had insisted on watching the drinks be made.

“Sure.” Looking to Spencer, she placed her order. “A big one. Please.”

“Yeah. Be right back.”

Mona seemed amused at their familiarity, or maybe it was just the idea of tiny Aria with a giant glass. She and Spencer started toward the bar counter together, weaving past the empty couches and crowded tables.

A handsome man in his mid-thirties wearing a black collared shirt was just finishing a complicated cocktail.

“One second, Mona,” he said, catching her eye.

“Of course.”

Spencer took the opportunity to look back at Aria across the room. She was still hugging the glass of chips and looked very small all alone on the large couch.

“The usual, I assume,” Tony said, grabbing the cognac bottle from the shelf behind him. “Sidecar for your friend as well?”

“Whiskey sour, please,” Spencer said, “and the tallest raspberry vodka tonic you’re allowed to sell.”

Tony got to work and Mona smirked at her. “Dare I ask which one is for the eighty-pound wisp?”

“Since when do you drink sidecars?” Spencer countered. “I thought those were for sixty-year-old men.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Spencer.” A sadness reached her eyes as she added, “It’s been a long time.”

Mona slid her AmEx Black card across the bar to Tony for him to start a tab, which Spencer found presumptuous and in violation of their terms. But she saved her strength for the upcoming conversation, grabbed her two drinks, and carefully maneuvered back to their seats.

She handed Aria the vodka tonic in its normal sized glass and said, “They were out of Big Gulp cups.”

“Thanks.”

Mona and Spencer retook their seats, and all three girls sipped at their drinks, unsure of what to say.

“Well,” Mona started, “I’d ask what you two are doing here in Vegas—”

“But you already know, don’t you,” Spencer said dryly.

A proud smile. “I know you’ve become quite the poker princess—not from what I observed today, mind you, but from your long-term results.”

“How could you possibly know my poker results?” Spencer wondered if Mona had hacked into her cloud drive and gotten a hold of her carefully curated spreadsheet.

“The same way I know Aria’s taken to blackjack like a fish to water. I keep tabs on old friends and pay attention to detail.”

“And here I thought the creepy stalker shit finished in high school,” Aria said and took another sip. Tony did fix a mean drink, she had to admit. “Color me naïve.”

“I see a lot of things here,” Mona said. “I do consulting work for the security company that manages the video surveillance in all the major casinos.”

Spencer and Aria exchange a look. Spencer was right after all. She leaned back against the couch with a raised eyebrow. “Glad to know you’ve put your skill set to good use.”

“Trust me, you two are hardly the most interesting thing that’s happened today. But I did feel it would’ve been rude not to say hello. Now that we’re not pretending anymore, that is.”

“Pretending what?” Aria asked, but Spencer’s face flushed.

“Spencer’s a real Southern charmer.” Mona took a sip of her sidecar and set it down on the table next to Aria’s glass of chips. “You had those boys drooling all over themselves to get with you.”

“I did _not_ ,” she insisted, turning to Aria as if this was all a big misunderstanding. “I just play dumb to induce bluffing, that’s all.”

“Yeah, I know,” Aria said, then looked back at Mona. “And what do you do, Mona? Bring creepy dolls with you to scare them into folding?”

Mona ignored that. “I must say, I was quite surprised to hear about Emily’s wedding in the Elvis chapel. She certainly doesn’t seem the type, does she?”

“Wait, what?” Aria balked.

“Are she and Hannah here with you?” Mona continued. “I figure if you’re here, they can’t be far away. And Alison too, I suppose. I’d love to say hi, and congratulate the lucky bride, of course.”

“They left this afternoon,” Spencer lied. “They had to get back for a work…thing.”

“And you two stayed on another night to do…what? Catch a Carrot Top show? Or Chippendales, perhaps?”

Spencer set her drink down a little too loudly to cut through the crap. “What do you want, Mona? You know we’re here on our own, you know why we’re here, you know where we’re staying, so just get to it already.”

“I’m just making conversation. You’re the one making it complicated. I wonder how Melissa would feel to know you’re telling people she married her own brother.”

“What?!” Aria said. She either needed to drink more or drink less to follow this conversation; she wasn’t sure which.

“Nothing,” Spencer dismissed, then looked back to Mona. “Look, I don’t want to put too fine a point on it, but after everything that’s happened, I don’t think either of us is really in the mood for a catch-up session. We just wanna enjoy our vacation. So, can we agree to put some space between us? Please? We just wanna be left alone.”

Mona looked to Aria for her opinion, but received none. Spencer had said it all for her, and Aria’s face showed she agreed with every word.

Steadying herself, Mona took a deep breath and let it out. “I see. Well. Can’t blame a girl for trying. I guess five years isn’t long enough for all the water to make its way under the bridge.” She set down her drink, grabbed her purse, and stood to leave.

It was bait and Spencer knew it, so she simply looked at her fingernails to avoid eye contact, but then remembered her manners, pursed her lips, and looked up. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Aria said quietly, but only Spencer heard her over the din of the bar.

“Safe travels home.” Mona sounded sincere for the first time all night. “It must be quite the long flight.” Clutching the strap of her bag with both hands, she nodded once and turned around, walking quickly out of the entryway.

“That wasn’t so hard,” Aria said, surprised.

“No, something’s wrong. Wait for it.”

After a dozen steps, Mona stopped, waited, then turned around and walked slowly back inside. She approached her chair and stood behind it, so it formed a protective barrier between them. “I’m not good at asking for help. Especially from people I’ve…hurt, in the past.” She swallowed and kept going. “I understand why you don’t want to see me. But I at least have to try before I go back upstairs.”

Aria hated that she was as curious as she was confused. “What could you possibly need our help with?”

“And why should we trust that you’d tell us the truth?” Spencer added.

Mona’s voice shook as she sat back down and leaned in closer. “Because deep down under all the scars from the pain I’ve inflicted on you, I have to hope there’s a small piece that used to care about me as your friend, and that you don’t want that friend to go to jail.”

“JAIL?!” Spencer and Aria said together. Half of the bar patrons turned at the noise, only to see them cowering sheepishly from the unwanted attention.

“If we’re going to talk here,” Mona asked, “could you be a little more discreet?”

“Sorry,” Aria said. “Just, why are you going to jail?”

Spencer looked unnerved. “Yeah, what’d you do? Wait—don’t tell us; that makes us accessories to your crimes. Of which I’m sure there are many.”

“I didn’t commit a crime,” Mona said. “I owe some money, and I don’t have it.”

“We’re not giving you any money,” Spencer laughed.

Mona didn’t find it funny. “I’m not asking you to. I was hoping you’d help me earn it.”

“We’re not hooking for you, either.”

“Spencer,” Aria chastised, then looked back at Mona. “What is this, some loan shark with the mob or something? Somebody stole your shipment of heroin off the boat?”

“Not a lot of drug boats in Vegas,” Mona snarked back. “Three years ago I was involved with a man who had a promising idea for a tech company. We agreed to work on it together, equal partners. He put up fifty percent of the starting capital, I put up the rest. He was the CFO, I was the CEO. We took off right away. Soaring profits in the first six months that well exceeded our expectations. Seven figures, maybe even eight. It was working just like it was supposed to.”

“Sounds like a dream,” Spencer said, thick with sarcasm.

“But then,” Mona continued, “suddenly one day he just skipped town, left the country. I haven’t been able to find him and haven’t heard from him.”

“Okay,” Spencer said, “so, what? Hire a PI. Let us go get tacos.”

“Ooh, tacos sound good,” Aria agreed.

“I don’t care about _him_ ,” Mona said. “I care that he took every cent of profit we had, made some phony investments with it, and stole it away.”

Spencer started to see where this was going. “And now you owe the taxes.”

“And now I owe the taxes,” Mona sighed. “I’ve delayed it for a year already. I’ve filed extensions, I’ve paid what I can from my savings and spare income, I’ve taken out some meager loans with interest rates I can afford, but now my credit’s maxed out and I’ve cashed in all my favors. Tomorrow’s October 15th, the extension deadline. If I can’t file and pay, the IRS owns my ass.”

“How much?” Aria asked.

Mona took the final sip of her sidecar. “Around fourteen thousand.”

“FOURTEEN THOUSAND?” Spencer balked, and the annoyed patrons turned to stare again. _“Fourteen thousand dollars?!”_ she whispered.

“It _was_ fifty-six,” Mona said with a glare. “Fourteen feels like the last slice of pizza. But it’s still too much. I need more time. Or some help.”

“Welp,” Aria said dryly, picking up the glass of poker chips. “Here, you can have this. Good luck to ya.” And she stood to leave. “Come on, Spence.”

“Good night,” Spencer beamed and got up as well. “We’ll write to you. In the big house, I mean.”

“I’m serious!” Mona looked as desperate as she sounded. It was an unfamiliar shade on her, to be sure. “I just need a few hours of your time, and your specific skill sets, both of you.”

“Which would be…what?” Aria asked. “Am I writing an essay on what a selfless and forgiving person you are? Or is Spencer gonna ride in on a horse and wallop someone in the face with a polo mallet?”

Spencer balked. “That was ONE TIME, _and_ it was an accident.”

“Didn’t look like it,” Aria mumbled through her teeth, avoiding eye contact.

“Fun as all of that sounds,” Mona said, “how about we stick to the reason you’re both here—playing cards.”

Spencer laughed again. “You think we’re gonna win fourteen thousand in one night? I don’t remember you being this funny in high school.”

“Not playing $1/$3 and $10 blackjack, we’re not. But we up the stakes, we up the take.”

“Catchy,” Aria deadpanned. “You come up with that all by yourself?”

“Even if we _were_ willing to help you,” Spencer said, “we don’t have the kind of money it takes to play any higher.”

“I can stake the buy-ins,” Mona said. “I have thirty friends with me.”

Aria and Spencer looked at each other, then back at Mona. If she just said what they thought she said, she’s offering them three thousand dollars.

“Yes, I know your silly little code,” she confirmed. “It’s cute; I like it. And it makes me sound very popular.”

“So, you have three of the fourteen on-hand now,” Spencer asked, “to use to raise the rest?”

“Technically it’s three of the seventeen. We still need fourteen more.”

Aria’s cheeks puffed out, then she exhaled the air slowly. “So, what’s your plan, then?”

Mona crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. “We split it, one grand for each of us to play with. We each shoot for a target of five, and then it’ll be covered even if someone falls a bit short.”

“And if we don’t hit the goal?” Aria asked.

“Then I guess I go to jail.” Mona sighed and looked each of them in the eye. “This is the only play I have left.”

Spencer leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees and folding her hands. “Why don’t you take the three grand and just go play with it, yourself? Why do you even need us?”

“It’s faster, plus I have to minimize the risk. It’s less likely that all three of us will bomb. If two of us have great nights, that could be enough. If I do it all myself, I’m one bad beat away from an orange jumpsuit.”

Spencer knew she was right, but it still seemed like there must be a catch. “And if we lose your money…”

“Then it’s gone. By five PM tomorrow it won’t matter if I have three thousand or nothing. I either have it all, or I don’t. I’ll understand if you lose it. I know this is gambling, not a guarantee. And I know you wouldn’t sabotage it on purpose.” She made that last statement a bit sharply.

Spencer’s eyebrows raised and fell as if to say, _yeah, I guess not._ “I still don’t know how you expect us to win five each in a night. The most either of us ever leaves with is three over four nights.”

“The $10/$20 game at the Bellagio.” Mona said it so casually, as if it wasn’t seven times bigger than the game Spencer always plays.

“No way,” Spencer laughed. “Not even with your money.”

“It’s the only way.” She looked at Aria now. “They have $25 tables with a house edge of less than half a percent.”

Aria puffed out her cheeks again, contemplating playing such large stakes.

“Or $50 tables, where the dealer stands on all 17s. Hand-shuffled decks. 3-to-2 on a natural. Only a .27% edge.”

This piqued Aria’s interest. Most of the lower-stakes tables she plays only pay 6-to-5 when you hit twenty-one, and the house edge is as high as two percent. She looked to Spencer before committing, then said with a shrug, “It’s your money.”

“Are we really doing this?” Spencer asked Aria quietly. The implied _“Helping Mona?!”_ was all in the eyes.

“Maybe.” Aria took another sip of her drink and turned back to Mona. “What about any profit for us? Assuming we meet your goal. If we win extra, I think we should get to keep it.”

“Potentially,” Mona said. “But if we’re all on target, I want us to agree to walk away. There’s no need to risk my freedom for a potentially profitable next hand.”

“Then what do we get?” Spencer asked. “We should get _something_ if we’re literally the only thing standing between you and prison.”

“You’ll be in a better position to negotiate once you’ve hit your five,” Mona said. Her eyes were wide, issuing a warning, but Spencer didn’t heed it.

“And you’re one step closer to an orange jumpsuit the longer we sit here talking about.”

Mona crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

Spencer thought for a moment, and looked to Aria for ideas. “Comped rooms for the next two years.”

Mona’s mouth fell open. “Spencer, I…”

“You work for the hotel, right? We only come here three times a year. You can make that happen.”

Aria added, “Four nights, including a weekend. And not the shitty deluxe rooms, one of the Sky Suites. Two beds.”

Mona swallowed. “Of course. Done. Anything else?”

“Space,” Aria said, a bit more gently. “These trips are our special getaway, just the two of us.”

“Fair enough,” Mona nodded. “This town’s big enough for all three of us. You won’t see me again.”

Spencer had one final demand. “And you never _ever_ tell anyone about the conversation at the poker table earlier.”

Mona tilted her head with a smirk. “Don’t be ashamed of your fake Mississippi astrology degree, Spencer. I’m sure you worked very hard for it.”

“First of all, it was an _astronomy_ degree, and—” But Aria reached over and placed a hand on Spencer’s arm to stop her from getting riled up. It wasn’t worth it. “…And it doesn’t matter.”

Aria patted her arm twice and withdrew her hand.

“Fine,” Mona conceded. “And in return, you never tell anyone about my business, my runaway ex, that I needed your help, or anything else about this situation. I’m embarrassed enough as it is without losing what little respect Hanna still has for me. We agree to mutual silence. Tonight never happened.”

“Win or lose,” Spencer clarified.

“Win or lose.”

Aria looked to Spencer one more time, and they both nodded. “Deal.” Then the three women raised their glasses to clink them together and downed what little liquor was left.

Finding Mona’s eyes once more, Spencer took a deep breath as the weight of the task settled upon her. “Let’s go play some cards.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I’m not sure I wanna know, but it’s just gonna bug me if I don’t ask.”

Spencer and Mona were waiting in the lobby while Aria ran up to the room to put the glass of chips away and change into a fresh top. They stood side by side and two feet apart, both of them people-watching to give their eyes something to do.

“Did I know you were at that poker table when I sat down earlier?” Mona guessed.

“It doesn’t make it any less creepy when you already know the question.”

Mona chuckled to herself. “I knew you played yesterday because I saw you on camera while I was working. But I was off today and saw you when I walked by after lunch. I usually don’t play at the casinos where I work, but I thought it might be nice to surprise you with a friendly face.”

“How fortuitous that you just happened to run into the person whose help you needed,” Spencer said.

“The world works in mysterious ways.” That didn’t seem like a good enough response for Spencer, so Mona added, “I have other friends who play, but I trust you more. Besides, it’ll be fun, almost like old times.”

“Yeah, with you telling me and Aria what to do and where to do it. Feels just like old times.”

Mona didn’t want to fight, so she let the bustle of the room fill in the space around them, then changed the subject. “How are you and Aria liking London?”

“We love it.” Spencer didn’t feel comfortable with former-A knowing much about the new life she’d built for herself, but in the world of social media, that was somewhat unavoidable. “A very welcome change of pace and scenery.”

“I’ll bet. That’s how I feel about Vegas much of the time. Even though everything here is fake, I’ve always liked pretending. This is a place for people with big dreams.”

 _So’s Disneyland_ , Spencer mused, but she didn’t say it out loud.

“It’s nice that you and Aria are still close,” Mona said, trying a different tack.

“Yeah, never closer,” Spencer agreed. “We’ve built a whole life together. It’s based on unwavering trust and honesty with someone who cares about you—you should try it sometime.”

Mona absorbed the dig and softened a bit. “You’re very lucky, both of you.”

“Yes we are.”

Just then, Aria came into view, sporting a fresh blue spaghetti string top and new earrings to match. “Ready?”

“You look nice,” Spencer said warmly.

“Thanks,” Aria smiled. “Had to get my game face on.”

”Off we go,” Mona said and led the way to the rideshare pickup outside.

Fifteen minutes later, their driver’s black SUV eased into the entrance area of the Bellagio and waited its turn to release them. Spencer looked over at the giant fountains, hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous show, but then realized it was well after 2 AM now and they’d missed it.

The three girls moved quickly through the lobby, under the beautiful art blossom ceiling, past the statuesque fountains, and crossed into the gaming area. Spencer and Aria both felt at home in the sounds and sights of it, but never before had they set foot in such a revered establishment. It was intimidating, to say the least. But why come to Vegas if not for adventure, they figured.

Straight onward, they followed the path to the center of the casino and turned right, where Mona led them to the cashier’s cage. There wasn’t much of a line at this hour, mostly people cashing out for the night.

“Should we come with you?” Aria asked, but Mona shook her head.

“No need. Wait here.” She approached an open cashier, pulled out a narrow envelope of cash from her purse. “Three thousand in green, please,” she said and grabbed an empty chip rack sitting on the counter.

The cashier counted out thirty $100 bills and returned with a full rack of green chips worth $25 each, nestled in five rows of twenty, plus an additional rack with one row filled. Spencer quickly did the math—each stack was worth $500, two stacks for each of them. Aria exhaled some nerves as the reality of the situation sunk in with both of them. This was a world above their typical stacks of five dollar chips. This was _real_ money now.

Mona moved the chips around until each of the three trays had two stacks in it, and carried them back over, handing one to each girl. “Remember the plan. Text updates every hour. If you hit your goal early, leave and start over small on a lower table as insurance. If the table dries up, we’ll find another. This is a marathon, not a sprint. Play your A-game.”

Spencer scowled. “Don’t say that.”

“Don’t be Southern; you’re terrible at it,” Mona countered, then continued on. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. We hit the goal and we get out. We have to make this count. My freedom is literally on the line.”

“No pressure,” Aria deadpanned.

“Blackjack tables are back that way,” Mona nodded to the path they’d just taken. “Spencer and I will be in the back, by the box office.”

Aria looked to Spencer, saying “Good luck.” The silent conversation afterward lasted merely a second.

_This is insane._

_We’re in way over our heads._

_We’re breaking our own rules. I’m still buzzed, and I know you are too._

_How did we get ourselves into this?_

_It’s MONA._

“You too,” Spencer said out loud, leaving the rest hanging between them.

With a nod, Aria raised her eyebrows at Mona, pursing her lips as if to say, _Well, here I go,_ and started walking back toward the gaming tables, feeling like the condemned souls of the past who were led to a firing squad.

********

Aria didn’t know a casual way to set down a thousand dollars in chips like it was spare change, though she sure tried. The stools were higher here than she was used to, but she climbed aboard the one empty seat at the first $25 blackjack table she saw. It seemed like a good idea to get accustomed to the higher stakes (and sober up a bit) before trying the $50 table. She had forty $25 chips, enough to get her feet wet and find her zone with single chip bets. She wasn’t going to quintuple up that way, but picking up momentum here, maybe doubling her stack, would set her up to do the same at the $50 table. That was a plan she could wrap her head around—double up twice, walk away with four thousand, hope the others meet their targets. If they really finished a thousand short, Aria could loan it to Mona in exchange for more comped nights in the future. She could live with that.

What she couldn’t live with, however, was the combination of bad breath and cigarette stench from her neighbor, and Aria prayed the double up would come soon so she could get away. She greeted the dealer and nodded a polite hello to the other four players at the table, all older men, all probably drunk, all probably underestimating what a girl like her could do. She was ready to show them.

Aria set out her opening bet, a single green chip, and received a nine of diamonds, then hit for a five of clubs and stood. She watched as the dealer flipped over a jack beside the face-up six of hearts, then another queen. Aria sighed in relief and placed the new green chip the dealer handed her into her chip rack. She could do this. This was exactly what she came here to do.

**********

When Spencer and Mona arrived at the poker room, Spencer heaved a sigh of relief. The $10/$20 game was full.

“Fuck,” Mona hissed. “That’s not good.”

“It’s fine,” Spencer reassured her. “We’ll get on the list, run it up in the $5/$10, and then move over. It’s fine.”

“I guess we have no other choice.” Mona stepped forward to the floorman’s desk and composed herself. “$5/$10, please, and add me to the $10/$20 list.” She presented a Bellagio player’s card to be scanned in, and her name appeared on the screen.

“Table six,” the man said and pointed the way. There were three seats available, which meant they would both be sitting together, but at least it’d be a mostly full table then.

“Same for me,” Spencer said when it was her turn to approach the desk. “Spencer.”

The man nodded and typed her name under Mona’s. “Table six.”

Spencer crossed the room in a daze, still not believing she was in the motherfucking Bellagio poker room. This place birthed legends. The biggest games in Vegas happened here. The pros she idolized practically lived here. She wanted to look around for familiar faces from TV but didn’t dare. The last thing she needed to was to psych herself out even further. She almost tripped on a step in the room and fell, as it was.

Mona had chosen seat nine, next to the dealer, strategically placing herself to the left of the biggest stack. The next best thing Spencer could do was take seat four, one of her favorites, just off the center of the table. To her left and right were tall stacks of green chips and moderate stacks of black—one hundred dollar chips—but Spencer took her two green stacks out of the rack and set them in front of her like it was no big deal.

“No player’s card,” she told the dealer, and then immediately cut out ten chips from a stack and began riffling them easily between her fingers. She knew the regulars at the table would see her as fresh meat, like throwing fish into a shark tank; Spencer had to prove she belonged. No more accent nonsense and gregariousness this time. Silent but deadly Spencer had come to play.

She first looked down at a five and six of hearts and called the $10 big blind in early position. The player in seat five raised to $40 and Mona folded with a graceful flick of a finger. Seats 1 and 2 called, making it mathematically sensible for Spencer to as well. She was used to $170 pots on the river, but not before the flop. Her pulse was already pounding, but she stared blankly at the board as the dealer burned the top card and dealt the flop.

A five, a king, and another five, all black. That didn’t help Spencer pulse problems in the slightest.

She was first and opted to check her three-of-a-kind, even with the flush draw on board. She knew nothing about her opponents and wanted to let them play into her for now. Seats 7 and 1 checked, then seat 2 bet half pot for $80. It was a board ripe for bluffing, and Spencer knew he could have a wide range from the big blind—a king, any two spades, a small pair, or even the case five. She called without deliberation, and the other two players folded.

A red queen came on the turn, which was a great card for Spencer, as it didn’t complete the flush or add any straight possibilities. Now it was time to lead out, and largely so. She bet $300 into the already $350 pot, which she knew would price out any flush draws and any paired queens, but she might keep a king on the hook. The man in seat 2 thought it over while staring her down hard, but Spencer didn’t blink, didn’t budge, didn’t breathe—just stared at the queen of diamonds like her life depended on it.

“Nice hand,” he finally said and mucked his cards.

Spencer allowed oxygen into her lungs but didn’t respond, just nodded politely and scooped her chips, starting a third stack of greens in front of her.

“Nice hand,” Mona echoed, and Spencer gave her a silent nod.

As cards hit the air for the next hand, Spencer chance a quick look at her companion, meeting her eyes with a small smile. Not a bad start.

*********

An hour later, Spencer felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She folded jack-two on the button and leaned back from the table to take a look.

A (3:16 AM): **_About 450 up, thinking about moving to the 50 table. U?_**

Spencer quickly typed a response, not wanting to miss the next hand in late position.

S (3:17 AM): **_Almost 800 up. Mona at 2k. Get some coffee_**

A (3:17 AM): **_U2. We got this._**

Sliding her phone back into her pocket, Spencer looked down at two tens and raised to $50. The big stack to her left called, then action folded around until they were heads up. Mona took out her phone to get caught up on the conversation, and Spencer held her breath while the flop came out.

Nine of spades, queen of diamonds, jack of clubs.

Not the top set she was hoping for, but being open-ended was certainly worth leading out. She grabbed three green chips and tossed them casually, betting three-quarters pot, which would be enough to scare away any riff-raff, like a smaller pair hoping to hit a set, themselves. Seat five called the $75, and Spencer held on again as they headed to the turn.

The three of hearts only made the straight less likely to come now. She still had third pair and was probably behind. If she checked, that would show weakness, and seat five would probably bet more than she could call. But she knew Mona was watching as Spencer threw around _her_ money, and she was under orders not to take unnecessary risks.

She weighed her options and led out again, this time for $175, roughly two-thirds pot, hoping seat five would just fold already. But he called. The pot was now just under $600, minus the casino’s rake, with one round of betting still to go. In Spencer’s mind she was shouting, _eight or king, eight or king, eight or king_ , as the final street came, but her body remained as still as stone.

The dealer flipped the river card, and Spencer’s stomach twisted in a knot. It was another ten. Her set was almost certainly no good with four cards to a straight on board—now she lost to any king. The way her opponent called her down, he likely had ace-king, king-queen, even king-jack. (He could’ve been trapping with the flopped straight, king-ten, the entire time, she didn’t forget.) If she bet big, she could represent ace-king, herself, announcing that she hit her gutshot straight draw. But if he had the king himself, he would certainly shove all-in, and she’d be forced to fold and forfeit her large bet.

The safest play was to check. She had a hand with reasonable showdown value. She could call a value bet, or fold to a shove without losing any more chips. Spencer hated to chicken out on the river, but mathematically, she knew it was the right move. Carefully, slowly, she moved one hand down to the table and tapped twice with her middle finger.

To her relief, her opponent said, “Check,” verbally and flipped his cards. He showed queen-jack for a flopped top two pair. Spencer flipped her tens and pushed them forward, and everyone at the table hummed in reaction with a “Wow” or “Nice hand.” Spencer had been betting from behind the whole way and hit one of her ten outs in the end. It was part of the game, but it still took a few weeks off your lifespan every time.

Spencer slowly exhaled in relief as she pulled the nearly $600 toward her.

“Nice hand,” Mona said again, nimbly riffling a small stack of chips. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen you here before.”

Spencer resisted the urge to shoot her a look and instead double-checked the correct count of her stacks, which now surpassed two thousand. There was still a long way to go, but a little more luck like that, and they’d be just fine.

**********

Spencer shouldn’t have been surprised that Mona Vanderwaal was good at poker.

It was a game of skill (not chance, like so many people believed) that required—in order to be excellent at it—an ability to read people and understand human psychology. It often meant you had to be a step ahead of your opponent and anticipate their moves so you could use their decisions against them, like check-raising the nuts, or bluffing all-in when they fail to fire a third bullet. Poker required resilience and an ability to build yourself back up again after being decimated, without being so rattled that you gave up on yourself completely. It required patience and attentiveness and keen observation skills, and more than a little understanding of mathematical probabilities. Mona had every one of these qualities.

It was, in fact, the perfect game for her.

She had picked it up quickly after moving to Las Vegas; it was hard not to, since she was so immersed in the casino world. It proved a fun hobby on her nights off and afforded her some additional luxuries, such as the new couch in her apartment and some choice jewelry. But she knew it wasn’t a game she could fully commit her life to, not in the way she would need to to really make it big. She was content playing the moderate games in the high-end places, like this table right here in the Bellagio, and letting her Slytherin ruthlessness run wild over the Fortune 500s and narcissistic millionaires that frequented. She won more often than she lost, and her profit sheet was consistently in the black, but something was still bugging her. Something that had eaten away at the back of her mind for months, or maybe a year now, that was finally being confirmed true this very evening.

Spencer Hastings was better than her.

Mona had almost paid more attention to Spencer’s gameplay that evening than her own. Time and time again, she considered what cards Spencer was holding as each action was taken, then upon the reveal (when there was one, of course), Mona would replay the hand in her head and analyze each decision. Each time, Spencer had made the right move, both from a mathematical and strategic standpoint. A few times the luck had gone against her—like when seat one got runner-runner straight against Spencer’s flopped top pair/top kicker with AK. But Spencer had bet when she was ahead and checked when she was behind, minimizing her losses and not stepping out of line. It was as equally masterful to watch as it was aggravating, to Mona. For once in her fucking life, she wanted to be better at something, smarter at something, than Spencer Hastings.

Mona could play the higher stakes, live the more glamorous lifestyle, buy larger jewelry, wear nicer clothes (not that that was a challenge), date fancier men (again, not a challenge, as Spencer had never dated anyone). But all of that felt irrelevant when she could no longer out- _think_ Spencer. Her A-playing days were long behind her, and Mona missed the rush of being in control and staying three steps ahead. Now that the playing field had been leveled, it took all her strength to push away the feelings of Loser Mona scratching to get in. She refused to ever be that person again.

Mona watched as Spencer raised pre-flop, called a much larger reraise from seat three, then checked the five-eight-two flop to induce a large bet. The board ran out clean, and Spencer scooped over $500 from beating pocket kings with her pocket eights, as if she’d known exactly where she was in the hand the whole time. She was undeniably good, and now had over $3,500 in front of her to show for it.

Mona might never be as skilled a player as Spencer; that was a hard truth. But she refused to concede the advantage, not this time. There had to be a way to still come out on top. This time, Mona was going to walk away the winner.

*********

M (4:31 AM): **_Status update?_**

A (4:35 AM): **_Doing fine at the 50 table. Close to 2.5k. Need more coffee_**

S (4:41 AM): **_Close to 4. Had a setback when I ran nut straight into flopped quads_**

A (4:43 AM): **_Yikes. If I hit another paint on 12 I’m gonna scream but otherwise ok_**

S (4:44 AM): **_Ugh gross. Hang in there. Do you need food? I bet you need food_**

A (4:49 AM): **_Maybe soon. Are places 24 hours in here?_**

M (4:54 AM): **_Vegas never sleeps_**

S (4:59 AM): **_At this rate neither will we_**

M (5:03 AM): **_Eyes on the prize, girls_**

**********

By 5:30, Spencer had lost all sense of time and was putting every ounce of focus and energy into winning back the $300 she lost when her nut flush ran into a full house. The asshole in seat six had no business playing 2-4 suited when she reraised 4x pre-flop, and she wouldn’t soon forget what he’d proven capable of. But going on tilt wouldn’t keep Mona out of jail, so Spencer took another long draw from her coffee mug and readjusted her tired body in her seat. She saw Mona take out her phone but decided to let her give Aria a chip count if she wanted to. Spencer had to figure out how to make her bottom pair of sevens work on this draw-heavy board.

They never agreed to an official end time, and Spencer assumed at this point Mona wanted her to keep playing until she hit the target, passed out, or died. She wasn’t about to ask—no one at the table seemed to know they were acquainted, and that was working to their advantage. They’d stayed out of each other’s way, for the most part, if only because it didn’t serve Mona’s purpose for them to fight over her own money. If Spencer _was_ going to go bust, losing to Mona would at least keep them on track to make goal. They could always switch venues, redistribute the chips, and start again. But Spencer refused to let that happen, for the sake of her own dignity. Still, she secretly hoped the perfect hand would come along so she could clean Mona out, if only because it would feel so fucking good to wipe that smug smirk off her perfectly painted little face.

Not that Spencer was still bitter after all these years.

That’s why when she raised to $40 with queen-jack of hearts and Mona reraised to $90, Spencer was all too glad to call, just in case the flop went her way. The men all folded, leaving them heads up for only the third time that night.

The dealer slid a nine, eight, and ten across the board in three different non-heart suits. She’d flopped the nut straight against Mona Vanderwaal. For Spencer, few things would ever feel better in this life.

Spencer was on the button, so Mona was first to act, and she checked. Spencer bet half pot—another $90—knowing any two middle cards and most over cards would come along. Mona called. An ace of clubs hit the turn, an excellent card for Spencer to represent if Mona checked again. This time, Mona led out for $200, and Spencer called. Even with a club flush draw now out there, she was still way ahead of any ace. She was careful to avoid eye contact with Mona and just stared at the board as the final card came—a two of clubs.

The flush had come in, and Spencer no longer had the best hand possible. A club was, in fact, the last thing she wanted to see, even though she knew an opponent will only hit runner-runner flush four percent of the time. But if anyone could make the odds work in their favor, it was Mona.

So, predictably, she said, “I’m all-in,” cool as a cucumber, and used both hands to push her six stacks of chips across the betting line.

Spencer leaned forward with her elbows on the rail and folded her hands with her index fingers together, pointing upward and against her lips. She wasn’t afraid to look at Mona now; there was nothing to risk giving away now that Mona had shoved. Spencer looked for the regular tells—pulsating in the neck, shaking, nervous body language, whatever her eyes seemed to say. In that moment, Spencer just felt like Mona wanted to win, to _beat her_ , by any means necessary. That didn’t require the best hand, it just required Spencer to fold.

“I call,” Spencer said and waited for Mona to flip over her cards, as was the rule.

Mona looked guilty, caught trying to make a move. “Straight,” she said weakly, knowing it was no good. She turned over 6-7 of diamonds and waited for her fate to be decided.

Spencer said, “Me, too,” and turned over her higher two cards. It seemed wild that they both flopped such a monster hand, but she’d seen it time and time again. Just not against Mona.

The dealer slid Mona’s $3,200 in chips over to Spencer, who now had almost eight thousand in front of her, leaving Mona with nothing.

“Nice hand,” Mona said, standing up and pushing in her chair. Then, to the dealer, “I guess it’s finally my bedtime. Seat open.” She opened her purse and took out two red $5 chips, sliding him a tip.

“Thanks very much,” the dealer said. “You have a nice night.” He tapped the chip twice on his plastic rack before popping it into his pocket, then began shuffling for the next hand.

Spencer didn’t know what to say or do—was she supposed to follow her? She had surpassed her individual goal, but not enough to cover Mona’s portion as well. It might look suspicious if she left now, not just because it’s poor etiquette to “hit and run” after winning a huge pot. So, Spencer stacked her new chips, folded the next hand, and calmly took out her phone.

S (5:42 AM): **_Aria how’s it going?_**

M (5:42 AM): **_She’s holding steady at 2.8. I’m with her now. You should come join us, we’ll get some food._**

S (5:43 AM): ** _Did you want us to restart on new tables? We’re only at 11k_**

M (5:44 AM): **_Just cash out, we’ll talk over food_**

Spencer’s brow furrowed, but she was too tired and hungry to argue. She reached to a nearby side table and grabbed three empty chip racks, then filled them with her fifteen neat, green stacks. She also had seven of the black $100 chips, which was particularly exciting, as she’d never even held one before. The best part: they all came from Mona’s stack. All in all, this had been a good night.

Spencer pushed a green chip to the dealer to thank him and stood up to leave. She told the table, “Good night,” and headed off to carry the three heavy racks to the cashier cage. Once she had her back to the other players, she couldn’t help but smile. Spencer might’ve floated away into the high ceilings of the casino if the weight of the clay chips hadn’t anchored her to the ground. Her mind was a blur of caffeine and fatigue and adrenaline and just pure bliss; it didn’t seem real, casually walking around with eight thousand dollars in hand that she won from a big game in the fucking Bellagio.

She reached the cage desk (somehow) and slid the racks to the cashier, preempting the question by acknowledging that hundreds would be fine. It took thirty seconds just for the gentleman to count out the eighty bills, fanned evenly across the wide counter in eight overlapping rows. He tacked on the change in small bills and held up his empty hands for the camera before stacking them together and pushing it to Spencer. “Eight thousand seventy. Have a nice day.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the pile of money in hand. It was taller than she thought it’d be. Spencer had never seen that much cash before. And it was beautiful.

With no purse, she had no choice but to put it in her pockets. She tried folding the thick stack in half, but it wasn’t working. Spencer felt a bit ridiculous for getting herself into this predicament. Next time, she mused, she’d bring along a duffel.

_“Here, let me.”_

Spencer turned to see Mona standing behind her with a hand extended. She reluctantly passed the money over, which Mona quickly put into her bag before saying, “Glad to see you didn’t blow this after I left.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” Straight over straight is a cooler; she did feel a bit guilty.

“Don’t be. That’s poker. You were ahead the whole way.” Mona’s smile didn’t reach her eyes, but it could’ve just been the fatigue.

“Hey guys,” Aria said, approaching with a rack and a half of chips. “Did you want me to cash these out for you?” she asked Mona.

“I’ll take care of it. Be right back.”

After returning with the cash safely tucked inside, Mona’s hands dropped to her sides. “So, who’s hungry?”

“God, yes,” Aria said. “I think I might’ve actually eaten a few of the chips.”

Spencer looked exhausted. “Same.”

“Well,” Mona said, “I suggest we go back to my room and order room service. It’ll be way better than anything you’re gonna get down here at this hour.”

Aria and Spencer looked at each other, sizing up the risk of the situation, but mutually decided they were too tired to care.

“Lead the way,” Aria said.

*********

Mona’s “room” turned out to be a large, lush, corner suite on the top floor of the hotel. It was a two-bedroom almost the size of Aria and Spencer’s apartment.

Looking around with her mouth hanging open, Spencer said, “I don’t know if I hate you or love you right now.”

Aria didn’t have enough brainpower left to be impressed, and simply flopped onto the first bed she found. “I think I’ll just lie here and die for a while, if that’s okay.”

“You’re both welcome to sleep here tonight, if you prefer. It is my fault for keeping you up so late.” Mona sat down on one of the living room chairs and withdrew the folded wad of cash Aria won, then the larger stack from Spencer’s exploits, placing them on the table. “Not bad for a few hours’ work.”

“Yeah, but it’s not enough,” Spencer pointed out. She paced a bit across the room; tired as she was, it felt good to stand up and move. “But I guess we could go back in the morning after we get some sleep.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mona said as she peeled off thirty hundred-dollar bills and set those aside. She took the remaining stack and started counting it. “So. Taking back the three I staked us, that leaves us with…$7,840 profit. I propose a 70/30 split—seventy for me, of course, as the financial backer—which I think tonight means $5,490 for me and $2,350 for you. I admit I’m a bit fatigued, so excuse me while I check that.” She took out her phone calculator and punched in a quick series of numbers. “Yep!” Mona counted the smaller amount from the pile and held it out to Spencer. “Here, take it.”

“Take it?” Spencer couldn’t have been more confused. “You’re giving me your money.”

“It’s yours now.”

Aria opened her eyes and spoke in a slurred voice. “Did I miss something? Weren’t you going to prison?”

Mona smiled. “Not today. Sorry to disappoint.” She was still holding out the cash, but Spencer looked afraid to touch it.

“So, all that about the IRS,” Spencer said, “that was all bullshit.” She laughed and ran her hand through her hair. “Of course it was. After faking your own death, I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore. God, you’re like Lucy and the football. And I fall for it Every. Time.”

“I admit I was almost offended you actually believed my story,” Mona smirked. “As if my judge of character would be _that_ bad to be taken for a ride by a scheming boyfriend.”

“It made a charming fairy tale,” Spencer said, crossing her arms.

“Guess I haven’t lost my touch.” Mona’s arm was getting tired. “If you don’t want the money, I’m happy to keep it all for myself. I just thought you’d want to earn something for all your hand work. Besides, you won it fair and square.”

Spencer’s eyes narrowed, but she reached out to snatch the bills out of Mona’s hand before she could change her mind. “So, if you’re not on the run from the IRS, then what was all this? You just wanted to fuck with us again, for old time’s sake?” She flopped down in a chair opposite Mona and slid halfway down so her head was against the back of it.

“Only a cynical person would say that. I would frame it more as a business venture.”

“A business venture,” Spencer repeated. “With you.”

“A freeroll, even—for you, anyway. I’ll put up the funds, you play, and you keep 30% of the profits.”

Spencer made a face. “Why would I spend my time doing that when I can keep 100% of my own profits?”

“Because this way you assume zero risk. It’s a no-brainer, Spencer. Don’t overthink it, though I know you’re going to anyway. Just, picture this: You can play the $1/$3 kiddie game all day if you like. Then, at night, you take my money, go back to the big boy table, and show them why they should never underestimate a woman with a chip on her shoulder. Figuratively speaking.”

Spencer laughed. “And you would just give me your money? To gamble with. When I could very well lose it all at any time.”

“Yes, I will. Because you’ve proven yourself worthy of it,” Mona said. “Tonight was a test. I gave you alcohol, I put you in a stressful situation out of your comfort zone, I asked you to deliver your best in the middle of the night because my life depended on it, and you delivered.”

“I _kicked your ass,”_ Spencer noted.

Mona took another breath. “Much as I hate to admit it, yes, you’re good. You’re really good. Better than me,” she added sadly, then, more confidently, “and I think you’re a solid investment. Imagine what you could do at a decent hour, sober, fed and rested, and without my proverbial future on your shoulders. I’m willing to invest ten thousand in seed money to find out.”

From behind her, Aria groaned into the bed, eyes closed. _“Do itttt. Take her money.”_

“See?” Mona smiled, “Listen to Aria. You can’t lose.”

Spencer sighed and squinted at Mona, thinking it over. Turning to look back toward Aria, she asked, “Weren’t we promised room service?”

 _“Nnnnnnnn,”_ she agreed.

Looking back at Mona, Spencer put her feet up on the table. “Food. And then we’ll talk.”

*************

A year later, it’s still warm for October, and Aria loves that she needs her sunglasses. Back home in London, it’s so dreary this time of year. But now, laying by the pool at three in the afternoon, it’s bright and sunny and 75 degrees, and it couldn’t be more perfect.

She pulls out her phone and continues the conversation she started with Spencer an hour ago.

S (1:41 PM): **_Profitable morning?_**

A (1:46 PM): **_400 or so. Gonna head back after I’m done at the pool._**

S (1:52 PM): **_Nice! I’m heading to MGM in a few. Let’s grab dinner before the show._**

A (3:04 PM): **_Sounds good. GL_**

Aria checks her tan lines and decides she’s had enough sun for now, then grabs her bag and makes her way back inside the hotel.

She drops her things casually inside the door and heads toward the bathroom. (Spencer doesn’t mind so much if she’s a slob on vacation. The suite is huge, anyway; there’s plenty of room to walk around her mess.) The designer shower is large enough for three people, but Aria gets the hot water all to herself. After a quick rinse, she puts on her favorite red top, black jeans, and silver hoop earrings, and pockets five crisp hundreds. She’s already well in the black for this trip and doesn’t worry about risking a little more at a better table. After what happened the night of Mona’s Tax Scam, as they’ve affectionately taken to calling it, Aria now knows she can handle any blackjack game she sits down at.

She purchases a stack of green chips from the cashier and finds a $25 table on the Aria hotel casino floor. Within two hours, she has two and a half stacks to cash out and a raging appetite. She texts Spencer and they agree to meet up at Lemongrass, their old favorite. This time, Spencer beats her there.

“Hey you,” Aria calls out as she gets closer.

“Did you see they added crispy fried tofu to the appetizers list? I don’t think they had that last year.”

“Oh, nice. We should get some.”

Spencer disagreed. “Seems like a weird choice for a place like this. Why would they take something healthy and then make it not?”

“Because,” Aria says, “that’s what makes it fun.”

“Speaking of fun, we decided Britney Spears tonight, Cirque tomorrow, correct? I’m gonna grab us tickets on my way across the street.”

“Are you sure you wanna go? You could just head to the Bellagio early.”

“Are you kidding?” Spencer asks. “She’s the soundtrack of my youth. Of course I’m going.”

Aria smiles and raises her eyebrows suggestively. “Should amp you up for the big game. You’re gonna kill it tonight.”

“Maybe that one song is actually about blackjack—baby, hit me one more time. That would make more sense than whatever else she meant.”

“I don’t think Britney knows shit about blackjack,” Aria says. “Just a vibe I get. No offense to her.”

“Maybe she likes poker,” Spencer offers. “Grinding it out for hours with a short stack, then running it up. I could see that.”

“Work, bitch,” Aria deadpans. Taking a sip of the water glass Spencer had waiting for her, she asks, “How many new friends have you made this weekend? In the big game.”

Spencer thinks, adding it up. “Thirrrrrty-two? Thirty-three?”

“And those are your friends? Or Mona’s friends?”

“Just ours,” Spencer smiles.

“Damn.” Aria is impressed. “Well, here’s to our new friends.” She raises her water glass and clinks it with Spencer’s.

“To new friends, and to old ones.” Spencer takes a long drink and sets down the empty glass. “You know, we should do something fun with all these new friends.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I seem to remember a certain someone telling me once that she wanted…to go to Barcelona.” Spencer meets Aria’s eyes and slowly breaks out into a smile.

“Now?!”

“Not _now_ , but soon? Maybe?” Spencer says.

Aria smiles back, then they both laugh. “How about we start with some fried tofu and go from there.” She stands and starts walking toward the ordering counter.

“That’s not real food!” Spencer teases loudly.

Aria stops and turns to defend herself, coming back to the table to get in Spencer’s face. _“I_ seem to remember a certain someone once stealing my _entire_ bag of potato chips and hiding it under the covers so I couldn’t have any. You don’t get to judge me for eating fried things.”

“That was a very, very bad day, and I deserved those fried things.”

“Wasn’t that the night we watched Rounders?” Aria asks.

“Yep. _And_ 21.”

“God, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into.”

“Nope,” Spencer laughs. “None whatsoever. But I’m glad for it.”

Aria smiles warmly. “Me, too.” She looks around them for a moment, taking in the vast expanse of the enormous hotel atrium. It’s larger than life, just like these adventures, and in both cases Aria hopes they will go on forever. “We make good team.”

“Um, duh,” Spencer agrees. “Team Sparia’s unstoppable.”

She raises up a hand and Aria high-fives it, then they hold on to each other for a moment before letting go.

“Love you, friend,” Spencer says warmly.

“Love you, too.”

“Fried things?”

Aria’s eyes light up. _“Fried things.”_

With a skip in her step, she bounces off in the direction of the ordering counter like a kid following an ice cream truck, and Spencer can’t help but laugh.


End file.
